


Who They Were

by RequiemForAbsolution



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: A slice of life, F/M, Pre-War, cassie has a crush, doing everyday highschool things, everyday highschool kids, jake has a crush too, marco is a sad clown, rachel is kinder than she wants people to know, tobias has angst, typical day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 12:46:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14545065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RequiemForAbsolution/pseuds/RequiemForAbsolution
Summary: This is a look at the day they had, before they met up at the mall and went home through the construction site. This is a memorial of the children they were, before their innocence was lost and their worlds were changed forever.Just a snippet of writing.





	Who They Were

This is who they were:

A handsome boy on the basketball court. He’s intense and focused, but the love of the game still brings an easy joy to his eyes. He jumps, and the ball is an orange spin from deft hands. But it bounces off the ring, and the boy just tilts his head back with a disappointed sigh, and offers a small smile to the victors. He shakes their hands firmly, and walks to the showers to change, a little troubled by the loss but calm and accepting of the factors involved all the same.

A girl sitting by her best friend in class. She’s taking notes with a pen smudged by the stubborn dirt on her hands. There’s mud beneath her nails, and stains on her jeans. The window of the room looks down onto the basketball court, and when she isn’t listening, she’s watching the tryouts below with abashed interest, a blush darkening her already dark cheeks.

Laughing, hands in the air in mock-surrender, a boy in the hallways. He’s backing away from an annoyed-looking brunette, but even as he leaves, he shoots her a charming smile. She throws a book at him, and he ducks it with practised ease. He jogs to class, and his smile fades to something more serious and thoughtful. But then he is inside, humour recovered, too late to make excuses, and his jokes about losing himself in reading make the rest of the class laugh and the teacher sigh in fond exasperation.

In the same room as the other two, but a world away: a boy, looking out the same window as the girl. But his gaze is directed to the sky, watching the clouds pass through the smoggy blue haze. His page is empty of notes, and instead holds a sketch – a cat, lounging in the sun, every strand of fur lovingly detailed. Both the drawing and his face are full of a sad and hopeful vulnerability, an open wish for anyone to read. The mottled bruises hidden on his arms tell another story.

Then there is the last one, a girl, sitting by her friend from before. Her long blonde hair is shining in the afternoon sun, and her smile is cool and calm as she watches the class settle down from the late interruption. Her notes are precise and detailed, written in beautiful calligraphy. There is a warmth to her when she looks at her friend, a beautiful smile that’s amused and loving and annoyed all at once. And then sometimes she looks beyond her friend, to the daydreaming boy, and her smile dimples into something sweeter and deeper than she wants to explain.

This is the five of them, moments in time.

Here they are again:

There is a bathroom, and the sunshine is reflecting on the white tiles. There is laughter ringing from the ceramic, and choking splutters as a boy’s head is withdrawn from the toilet. Then he is forced down again, struggling uselessly, and the toilet is flushed and water drenches his hair, drowns him, floods his nose and mouth until he can’t breathe and his vision is flashing red.

“ _Hey!_ ”

Suddenly there is a hand on the back of his neck, firm and gentle at the same time, and he is dragged back and out of the cubicle. The bullies are nowhere to be seen, and there are serious brown eyes in front of him, narrowed in anger and concern. There is no need for further words between them, but one of them mumbles awkward gratitude and the other dismisses it with an uncomfortable smile. There are fresh bruises, soaked clothes, dripping hair. He does the only thing he can do, and lends the boy his jacket, and together the two of them walk out of school, leaving wet shoeprints behind.

Across the campus, the boy is mocking the girl, and she is laughing razor-sharp retorts into his face. He is trialling his boyish charm on her, and she is trialling attempted murder on him; but they are comfortable, relaxed, at home amongst the crowd of students around them. Their friendly dislike of one another is a well-worn routine by now, enough that they know each other better than they will admit to themselves. She knows the surprising depth of grief that waits for him at home, in empty spaces and empty stares, and the hard work that he does in becoming strong enough to fill that gap; he knows her restless boredom and the isolated frustration, but also her resigned sadness when she looks north to somewhere that her father may be. Never do they bring these topics into their banter. It is an unspoken rule. His long silken hair, and her googly eyes at the charity kid – _those_ are fair game, and, accordingly, torn to verbal shreds.

On her own is the last one. She is by the fence, kneeling over a wounded bird that has fallen from her nest. Her hands are careful and steady as she binds the hurt wing, and her voice is an ongoing lullaby to soothe the bird into rest. Once she is done, she hurries to catch up with her friend. The three of them walk together, and with her gentle observations she manages to shame the other two into a more respectful discussion about the science homework. But she blushes again when she sees the serious boy, and his slow smile in return makes her feel like today is the most beautiful day of her life. Then she remembers her dirty hands and stained clothes, and immediately wants to die. And then she sees the damp figure behind him, the sad and painful self-awareness of someone who knows he will never belong, and her heart warms to see that – for the moment, at least – he is being shown that someone cares. The fact that it is her crush who is being so kind only deepens her giddy infatuation.

This is who they were. Remember that.


End file.
